All The Days that I May Live
by Haligh
Summary: Johnny takes a walk on an early morning and contemplates things.


**I actually kind of like this one!**

**HOMG, WHAT A SHOCK.Gasp! It was a oneshot, as usual, writting between... I'd say, 12:30 and finally finished with around 2:09 in the morning. Talk about insane. I'm tired now! xD Johnnys thoughts are a little confusing to me, but I'm going to definately take this and rewrite it eventually to make all of his thoughts 'flow' better. Songfic lyrics are from the song "Land Locked Blues" by Bright eyes which is FUCKING AMAZING. I definately suggest a listen. All the other quotes in here, from songs, are from church choir music. There'sA LOT of bright eyes references in this one, mainly the lines 'When the voices blend they sound like angels', which is from the song "Waste of paint".**

**I don't own Johnny, or the Outsiders, or church.**

**---**

_So I'm up at dawn, putting on my shoes  
I just want to make a clean escape  
I'm leaving but I don't know where to  
I know I'm leaving but I don't know where to._

Sometimes he just wanted to escape.

So today he was doing it.

He tied up his sneakers and grabbed his jean jacket. The rare sound of silence filled his house, broken only by the faint sound of a televised game show with the volume set on low. He pushed open his window and swung his legs over the edge, landing on the snow covered ground outside. The early hours of the morning where completely silent, and the snow blanket was perfectly undisturbed; light flakes where still drifting to the ground. A pink tongue prodded through thin red lips, stretching out like a net to catch the falling flakes. Johnny shuddered, feeling the cold snow land and melt almost instantly on the warm surface of his mouth.

It was only the third snow of the season. The first few where the most magical, in his opinion. Months, and months of cool weather, steadily getting colder and colder until exploding in beautiful snowfall. Everything was suddenly so pure and so clean. The snow fell over and concealed the black mud and the dust and the dirt. Everything seemed simpler, plainer. That's why he loved winter so much. He took a few steps, shivering. It was cold... Very, very cold. But he needed to clear his head...

He'd had the dream again. The one where he was falling, and falling, and nobody was catching him. And then, he landed hard on the cold, black ground, fading away...into sand. What a clumsy form! He recalled in his dreamlike state, fumbling for control, landing on a beach as the blue waters stretched out for him...

It wasn't frightening. It was... confusing. And it bothered him. It had to have meant something, but what?

He looked over, watching the window of a house as he passed it by. Movement. A toddler had just woken up on the living room floor, stretching. Johnny smiled. Children where so beautiful, babies where so innocent. They hadn't discovered pain, or loss... They where still growing up, and in their young forms they had conquered the challenge Johnny thought was impossible. They stayed complete. They stayed flawless.

They where pure, as pure and unspoiled as the snow on the ground. "I wonder," He said aloud, his breath coming out in a white cloud, mingling and hanging in the air, "If the whole world is waking up?" The thought made him smile, and he stopped suddenly.

_"Jesus, the very thought of Thee  
With sweetness fills the breast!"_

That sound; it was amazing, so many voices... Singing. Did Choir practice really start so early? It was only six o'clock... He continued to follow the sidewalk to the cathedral. The sound of the songs escaped as an echo, sloping off the ceiling at an angle...  
_When the voices blend, they sound like angels_, Johnny thought dreamily, slowly walking to the door. He could hear them, they're sound filling him with warmth."_Yet sweeter far Thy face to see  
And in Thy Presence rest..."_This song. He knew it, He did... He'd heard it a few weeks ago. It was black outside, rain falling in buckets... And those channels on TV are always playing religious programming. This song... He'd heard it. How did it go? He remembered bits and peices... That he'd really enjoyed. Those songs, the ones they sang in the churchs, made him smile. A sincere smile would cross his lips... They always sounded wonderful, magnificent. "_No voice can sing, no heart can frame..." _He sang along quietly, ear pressed to the brown door, eyes shut. It was really lifting his spirits.  
The building was beautiful; brown wood stretched up towards the sky, while painted stained glass depicted scenes from the bible to feed the heads of the believers, give them something to hold onto, images of unbelievable past events.  
He wondered suddenly if the real angels, high up in heaven, where listening. Where they smiling? It was so early, the song seemed to be the only sound.  
All the days that I may live..."As the choir continued to sing, he suddenly felt very sad. He muttered the words and shook his head. No. Suddenly, it had hit him; Why was he singing? Because it made him feel good, he wanted to sing so all the angels would hear him, but the range is just to high, way up in heaven.. And those fools inside the cathedral actually believed they could hear them, didn't they? They really believed ...But it was impossible, wasn't it?_  
_The angels, God, they could never hear them, their voices so insignificant in the scheme of things, their wants and needs and prayers whispered as they knelt before sleep...lost. All lost causes. God was to far away, so far away. He suddenly smiled, looking up at the sky as snowflakes landed and melted as they hit his pale skin and cheeks and nose, pink from the cold. So, if everything was lost, their was no point in believing, was there? Why have hope in anything, if hope is worthless?  
He had to answer himself with a shrug, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he started to walk off. If angels really existed, the angels he'd hope would come down one day and listen to the voices the catholics lifted to them every Sunday, they would have voices like the believers; Voices full of wonder and beauty and hope in something to mysterious and wonderful to actually exist.  
Ah. His mind was clear, and he felt his skin start to each and numb from the cold winds.  
By the time he reached his house, slipped back into his room and closed to window, he could hear the screams of his parents. Already? How long had he been out?  
Hope. He hoped it would all end, soon, because the state of things was really bothering him, really depressing him. He'd give himself three days to feel better, or else he could swear he was going to drive right off a fucking cliff. These thoughts...where to much. He was thinking to much. Drowning in his own doubts, his observations. Everything seemed to be falling apart. How he maintained his faith before, he didn't know, but he wanted it back again. He wanted to be the Johnny he was before he started thinking so much about everything, before he questioned everything and found out it was wrong. Lately everything seemed different; so much more complicated, so much easier to find fault with. It was changing everything, and he hated the changes. What happened to things being simple, anyway? He was who he was, and he'd have to accept it. His identity was one thing he couldn't walk away from. And, in time, he'd learn to accept it. Soon. Yes...Everything was changing, but change was overdue after all. He'd been the same old Johnny for sixteen years. It was time for a change. With the screams over the television acting as a sick sort of lullabye, his black eyes drifted shut. He wrapped the warm blanket around himself, smiling. At least his head was clear again. He wouldn't be thinking again for awhile, if he could help it. He'd wake up, someday, understanding everything, accepting everything...

He'd wake up one morning and be different, changed, happier, and he wouldn't regret it.

Any doubts where suddenly halted and drowned out by sleep.

_I've grown tired of holding this pose  
I feel more like a stranger each time I come home  
So I'm making a deal with the devils of fate  
Sayin', "Let me walk away, please..."_

_You'll be free child once you have died  
from the shackles of language and measurable time  
And then we can trade places, play musical graves..._


End file.
